Elfling Retribution
by Elf Eye
Summary: Another in "The Nameless One" series. Set after "Really Bad Eggs."
1. Let The Games Begin!

Up until the age of five, Anomen had been used to bathing in a pool beneath a small waterfall near the cottage where he lived with his Edwin Nana.  Not too surprisingly, he grew to identify 'bathing' with 'swimming', and was always eager to leap into water at every opportunity.  His situation changed radically, however, when the Elven troop abruptly carried him away to Thranduil's Great Hall.  A bathing tub was set up for his use in the antechamber of his room.  Of course, it was fun to splash about even in such a confined space, but Anomen longed for the sylvan pool of his younger days.  Unfortunately, Anomen's agéd and unimaginative tutor was horrified when the elfling asked whether he might bathe outside.  "Utterly undignified," the older Elf spluttered with indignation.  Anomen never mentioned the matter again.

When Mithrandir brought Anomen to Rivendell, cold weather was just setting in, and as a matter of course Anomen was shown to the various rooms where bathing cauldrons stood ready.  When spring arrived, however, Anomen soon discovered that many Rivendell Elves preferred bathing outdoors in fine weather.  Delighted, he immediately followed suit.  So it was that one day he happily ran down to the banks of a particular pool that reminded him of the one he had bathed in so long ago as a very tiny elfling.  Water cascaded over a little waterfall into a pool that was deep enough not only for swimming but diving.  Arriving upon the bank, Anomen hastily shed boots, leggings, and tunic and leaped into the water.  Before too long, his singing and splashing attracted the attention of Elrond's twin sons, who were themselves returning from bathing in _their_ favorite pool, which was rather more rocky than the one favored by Anomen.

Until this point, Elrohir and Elladan had largely refrained from making Anomen the target of their pranks—at least of any of their major ones!  The sight of his clothes scattered on the bank, however, proved to be irresistible.  Obviously they would have to steal these articles of apparel—surely they had been left with no alternative!  Creeping up carefully whilst Anomen had his back to them, they snagged the garments and raced off.

A long while later a very wrinkled Anomen—yes, Elves do wrinkle if they remain overlong in water—climbed onto the bank and looked about for his clothes.  He looked under and behind every bush before he reluctantly concluded that they had been taken—and he had a good idea who the culprits were!  He would deal with them later, he resolved.  For now, however, it was getting on toward dinner, and if he did not return in time, trouble would ensue.  But how could he return to the Hall without clothes?  He couldn't very well stroll up to the entrance.  Well, he thought, he could, but he didn't relish the spectacle that no doubt would result when a scandalized Door Warden sent word to Lord Elrond that matters at his post were not 'in order'.  But how else to enter the Hall?  Anomen remembered the trellis beneath the window of the room he shared with Elladan and Elrohir.  He would creep into the garden, where the bushes and trees would offer him cover, and make his way to the trellis.  Yes, that would work.

At first it looked as if his plan would succeed.  As the dinner hour approached, Elves generally retired to their chambers to wash and dress for that occasion.  The garden appeared deserted, and Anomen began to carefully cross it, flitting from bush to bush.

Ai! One Elf did remain in the garden—one elfling, actually.  Arwen had been quietly sitting in the shade of a bush stringing flowers into a garland.  A bird landed on a branch near her and began to sing.  Her attention captured by the melody, Arwen began to sing as well.  Anomen froze in dismay.  From the sound, Arwen was very close.  Worse, the bird fluttered off, right past Anomen's hiding place.  Still singing, Arwen arose to follow it.  She was going to stumble upon a mortified Anomen.

Anomen frantically looked about for a better hiding place.  He spied an old abandoned badger burrow.  The badger had been a good-sized one, and Anomen was still a slender elfling—slenderer than most, in fact.  He thought the badger hole would do.  Desperately he dove for the burrow.  Just in time, he scrambled into it, and he lay quite still as Arwen innocently passed right by his refuge.  Humiliation forestalled!

Once the sound of Arwen's song had died away, Anomen began to wriggle his way backwards.  Within seconds, he hit a snag—literally.  His arms were folded up under his body, his elbows akimbo.  As he tried to worm his way out of the burrow, one jutting elbow caught upon an exposed tree root.  Going in, he'd been able to slide past it, but now, with his arms bent so awkwardly, he could not retrace his path.  The more he struggled, the worse matters became.  Before too long he seemed to be irretrievably wedged.

At last he lay still trying to collect his thoughts.  Ai! The thoughts he collected were not very pleasant ones.  What would happen, he wondered, if the badger returned to reclaim its home?  Or if some other animal should happen upon the hole and decide to make it its burrow?  His naked feet were of course near the entrance to the hole, and Anomen began to imagine what it would be like to have some sharp-toothed creature nibbling upon his toes.  Before too long, it must be confessed, Anomen was sobbing.  For all that he had succeeded in making the arduous and dangerous passage from Greenwood to Rivendell, he was, after all, still very much an elfling.

It seemed to Anomen that an entire Age must have passed before he again heard a voice.  Someone else had come to sing in the garden.  The voice was deep—a male Elf, a grown one, someone who could help him!  Anomen had long ago given over any concern over his lack of clothing.  No matter what humiliation he might have to suffer, he wanted to be rescued!

"Help! Help! Saes! Saes! Help!" he screamed frantically. 

Outside in the garden, Glorfindel, who had readied himself for dinner, had come to while away the last few minutes before that meal.  He heard muffled shouts for help and paused in his song, but when he looked about, he saw no one.

"Did someone call for help?" he called.

"Yes! Yes! Oh, please help me!" came the reply.

"Where are you?"  shouted Glorfindel.  "And who are you?"

"Anomen.  I'm in the old badger burrow." 

Glorfindel bent down and peered into the badger hole.  He could just make out the pink soles of Anomen's bare feet.

"Why ever did you crawl in there?" asked the astonished elf-lord.

Sobbed Anomen, "I was trying to get away from Arwen."

Glorfindel was perplexed.  He knew Arwen could be demanding, but hiding in a badger burrow seemed a little—extreme.

Glorfindel lay down on the grass before the hole and reached in.  He firmly gripped Anomen by the ankles and began to pull him back.  Anomen screamed.  "My arm!  My arm!  It's bending the wrong way!"

"Are you caught on something?"

"Yes!"

Glorfindel sighed and arose to his feet.  "I'd best fetch Elrond.  Do not fear; I will return shortly."

Elrond was enjoying a before dinner glass of wine with Erestor when Elrond knocked on the door to his chamber.

"Enter.  Ah, Glorfindel, please join us."

Glorfindel shook his head.  "You are needed in the garden, Elrond."

Elrond raised one eyebrow.  "In the garden?  That is not usually my sphere of action.  Is this not something with which the Head Gardener could deal?"

"Oh," said Glorfindel glumly, "no doubt we will be forced to press him—and his spade—into service, but I believe you will first want to survey the situation.  It seems that your Greenwood fosterling, not content with clambering about the treetops, has decided to burrow into the earth.

Elrond raised the other eyebrow.  "Wonderful," thought Erestor, "a two-eyebrow crisis right before dinner."

"Burrow into the earth?"

"Aye, but he neglected to consider how he would return to the surface."

"He is trapped beneath the ground?"

Erestor shook his head in dismay.  "Elrond," he said sourly, "you were talking about strengthening ties with the Dwarves of Moria.  Let us send Anomen as an emissary, as he seems to desire subterranean experience."

"I second that recommendation," said Glorfindel, equally sourly.

"Ah, my friends," replied Elrond, "this is in fact an improvement over the previous state of affairs.  At least we know where Anomen is, _and _he is not going anywhere."

Erestor and Glorfindel had to reluctantly concede that Elrond was right on that score, and they accompanied that elf-lord to the garden in a slightly better frame of mind.

"Anomen," called Elrond once he had reached the burrow and stooped to peer into it.  "Are you hurt in any way?"

"No, Lord Elrond," came the muffled reply.

"Can you breathe easily enough?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond, but—mmph—I have got dirt in my mouth and it tastes nasty!"

"It has been said," opined Erestor sententiously, "that every elfling should eat a pint of dirt before reaching Elfhood."

"Yes," agreed Elrond, "but I do not think the statement is meant to be taken altogether literally—you, as a scholar, must surely appreciate that!"

Chastened, Erestor fell silent.

"Anomen," called Elrond again.  "We will fetch the Head Gardener, and he will dig you out.  You will need to be patient.  He will not want to dig too quickly, lest the dirt fall upon you.  Can you be a brave elfling and lie quite still to make his job the easier?"

Lie quite still?  What choice did he have!?"

"Yes, I will lie still, Lord Elrond."

"Good.  Glorfindel—"

"Yes, I will fetch the Head Gardener," said the balrog-slayer in a surprisingly cheerful voice.  The humor of the situation was beginning to soften his crusty exterior.

Glorfindel shortly returned with the Head Gardener, who carried not only a spade but several other tools that he thought might be useful in extricating an elfling from a tight spot.  Carefully he began to dig toward Anomen.

Before too long, a considerable number of Elves, attracted by the hubbub, had drifted into the garden.  Rubber had not yet been invented, so Elves such as these, eager onlookers at the scene of a disaster or crisis, were not known as 'rubber-neckers'.  Instead, they were called 'swan-necks'.  This writer believes the latter term to be the more elegant of the two.  Be that as it may, it amounts to the same thing as the modern phrase.  (Dwarves had another term altogether: 'bent-shovels'—apparently because that is what would happen to said tool when a Dwarf, distracted by curiosity, failed to notice that he was about to bring his spade down upon solid rock.  But enough of etymology and back to the story.)

Not too surprisingly, the twins were soon numbered amongst the 'swan-necks'.  They never failed to put in an appearance at the scene of something unusual or interesting.

"What is the matter?" Elladan asked their father.

"Anomen has crawled into an old badger burrow and gotten himself stuck.  Although why he should have crawled into such a place in the first place is beyond me!"

Elladan and Elrohir had an idea as to why Anomen may have done such a thing.  They stepped back, waited a few minutes, stepped back again.  Before too long, they had edged their way to the fringes of the crowd.  From there, they turned and slipped away.  The stable, they decided, would be a good place to spend the night.

Elrond had known from the start that Anomen was not wearing his boots.  As the Head Gardener shoveled away, Elrond soon saw that Anomen was naked to the knees.  No doubt his leggings somehow had been pulled or pushed up as the elfling had struggled to escape the burrow.  Soon, however, Elrond perceived that Anomen was naked above the knees as well.  As the Head Gardener drew close to unearthing Anomen's bottom, Elrond stopped him digging.

"Anomen?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond," came the muffled reply.

"Are you wearing your leggings?"

"No, Lord Elrond."

"Are you wearing your tunic?"

"No, Lord Elrond."

"Are you wearing anything at all?"

Silence for a moment, then a soft "No."

Elrond turned to the assembled Elves.  "We need silence in order to hear the elfling's words so that we can be sure that the shovel does not hurt him as we draw near.  All of you must disperse.  As it is past the dinner hour, and no doubt the Head Cook is getting frantic, you are all to go to the dining hall at once."

Reluctantly the elven onlookers straightened their 'swan-necks' and drifted off.  Elrond commanded the Head Gardener to recommence digging.  Here came Anomen's bottom, now the waist, and at last the Head Gardener reached Anomen's elbows.  The troublesome root was visible, and the Head Gardener promptly severed it with his clippers.  Glorfindel once again took hold of Anomen's ankles and gently pulled him the rest of the way out of the remnants of the burrow.  Elrond handed Glorfindel his cloak, and the balrog-slayer wrapped the elfling in it.  The Head Gardener, meanwhile, surveyed the damage with dismay, both the gaping hole and the grass and flower beds trampled by rescuers and onlookers alike.

"My Lord, I had just finished planting this area!  I will strive to repair it with all diligence, but I am afraid that a year may pass before this part of the garden will be equal in beauty to the remainder.

"A year is only a moment in time," replied Elrond calmly.  "Do as best you can, but be not troubled.  Next spring the damage will scarce be apparent.  Glorfindel," he said, turning to his friend, "let us see about cleaning up Anomen.  A considerable amount of soil seems to have attached itself to him."

Indeed, this was true.  For the first (and, Anomen devoutly hoped, the last) time, the elfling was out-and-out filthy.  His hair was matted, dirt was rubbed into every pore, his fingernails were rimmed with earth.  Had it not been for his pointed ears, he would have been unrecognizable as an Elf.

"You had better carry him, Glorfindel," said Erestor.  "Else he will leave dirty tracks throughout the Hall—and the Head Housekeeper will not be pleased."

Obligingly, the balrog-slayer hoisted the bundled elfling over his shoulder and carried him to the nearest bathing room.  There he placed Anomen directly into a tub, and the Elves commenced pouring water over him.  It cascaded down his body in brown rivulets.  Before too long Anomen was standing up to his knees in muddy water.

"Glorfindel," suggested Elrond, "why don't you put him into that tub over there so that we may start afresh."

And so Anomen found himself standing in a second tub whilst the Elves again poured water over his head.  Indeed, he was on his fourth tub before the water began to run clear.  At last Elrond stood back, satisfied.

"You look almost like yourself, Anomen."

"Almost?" said Anomen worriedly.

"Well, you do appear a bit bedraggled, but once you have dried off, eaten, and had a good night's sleep, you will look much better."

"And dressed?'  said Anomen hopefully.

"Oh, yes, of course, dressed.  Come, let us wrap you in a towel and get you to your room so that you may be clad."

A little while later a warmly dressed Anomen sat in Elrond's chamber sipping mulled wine and devouring the late supper that had been sent up for him.  After he had satisfied his hunger, he sat back and sighed contentedly.  Seeing him so recovered, Elrond decided that it was time to enquire into how the elfling had come to be in a badger burrow.

"Anomen," he said gently, "a badger hole is a most unusual place to find an elfling, especially one such as yourself, who has always been preferred to climb up rather than burrow down.  Pray explain to me how you came to be stuck in such a place."

"I was taking a bath," declared Anomen stoutly.

Elrond raised an eyebrow.  "Anomen, a bath does not usually conclude with burying oneself in the dirt!"

"Well, after I finished bathing, I could not find my clothes."

"Oh, and have you any idea what happened to said garments?"

"Yes.  But I would rather not talk about that," Anomen added hastily.

"Indeed?"  Up went the other eyebrow.  Well, Elrond thought, perhaps it would be best if Anomen handled the twins himself.  "Pray continue."

"I didn't want to create a stir, so I decided to climb up the trellis to return to my room."

Climb up the trellis.  This sounded more like Anomen's typical behavior.

"I was making my way through the garden to get to the trellis when I heard Arwen singing.  I didn't want her to see me, so I hid in the burrow.  But then I couldn't get out again!"

Elrond nodded.  All in all, Anomen had acted with a sort of elfling logic so that, given his age, his behavior had been reasonably sensible.  After all, how could he have foreseen that he would be trapped by a tree root?

"Well, Anomen, matters have not ended too badly—except for the trouble that you have caused the Head Gardener.  Now let me give you some advice.  No doubt you wish to deal with the matter of your clothes.  Have a care that you do not cause too much trouble when you do so."

"But I may, um, 'deal with' the culprits?"

"Yes, but deal wisely with them.  Some boundaries must be maintained."

"Yes, Lord Elrond."

"I have kept you up far too late.  To bed with you."

"In the morning," began Anomen hopefully.

"In the morning you will attend lessons with Erestor as usual," said Elrond firmly, his eyebrows beginning their creep up his forehead.

"Oh, of course," Anomen said hastily.  He arose and took his leave.  To his surprise, but also his relief, the twins had not returned to their shared chamber.  He wanted some time alone to think how best to pay the twins back without crossing any of the 'boundaries' that Elrond had alluded to.

For several weeks Anomen considered how best to get back at the twins for the theft of his clothes and the resulting humiliation.  At last he thought that he had happened upon the perfect opportunity.  From time to time Glorfindel would call together the Elves of Imladris to witness an exhibition of the archery and swordsmanship of his elfling and novice students.  Anomen knew that Elladan and Elrohir hoped to do particularly well in the archery contest.  Well, Anomen would see that they did not!

On the morning of the exhibition, Elladan and Elrohir felt more than usually confident about their shooting skills, for they had done exceptionally well in their practice sessions the prior week.  Only Anomen had shot better than they.  Elladan went first.  He stepped jauntily up to the line and drew an arrow from his quiver.  As he fitted it to the bow, however, he noticed that the fletching was damaged.  He set that arrow aside and drew another.  Before he could nock it he noticed that it too was damaged.  He set that arrow aside as well and drew another.  Damaged.  Increasingly uneasy, he drew arrow after arrow from his quiver.  All spoiled.  At last he looked up at Glorfindel.

"My Lord, all my arrows have been damaged."

Glorfindel's face was impassive.  "It is the responsibility of the archer to check his arrows before the commencement of the contest.  A warrior who did not make sure of his weapon would be a very poor warrior indeed."

"My Lord, I checked these arrows last night, and they were all sound!"

"Nevertheless, you are disqualified.  Step back and allow the next archer to approach."

Humiliated and miserable, Elladan withdrew, to be replaced by his twin.  Elrohir drew forth an arrow.   Damaged.  Frantically he went through the arrows in his quiver until none remained.  Not a single one was sound.  He looked up at Glorfindel.  The balrog-slayer shook his head.  Elrohir, his eyes upon the ground, retreated to stand by his brother.

It was now Anomen's turn.  Beaming, he confidently strode up to the line.  Glorfindel came to stand near him.  Anomen drew forth a pristine arrow, nocked it, pulled back the string, and prepared to release his shaft.  At the moment of release, however, Glorfindel jostled his arm almost imperceptibly.  Since Glorfindel stood on the far side of Anomen, none of the onlookers could have seen this, but the impact of his action on the elfling's aim was considerable.  His first arrow went wide of the target.  The onlookers gasped.

Shakily, Anomen drew forth a second arrow.  He glanced up at Glorfindel.  His expression was unreadable.  Carefully, Anomen prepared to release his second arrow.  He looked up at Glorfindel one last time, took a deep, steadying breath—and Glorfindel brushed him once again at the very moment that Anomen let fly the shaft.  It hit the target, but only just.

Glorfindel spoke.  "You have not shot well enough to advance to the next round.  Retire from the field."

Now it was Anomen's turn to skulk back to the spectators with his head down.  He went to stand silently beside the equally silent twins.  Elrond was silent as well, his face grim.

Lunch that day, which should have been celebratory, was instead a painful affair.  Only Arwen was her usual self.  Anomen and the twins sat looking at their plates.  The food was, as always, excellent, but they took scarcely a bite.  Elrond and Glorfindel ate but said little beyond the necessary.  Erestor likewise ate.  From time to time he glanced with sympathy toward the elflings, but he said nothing.

After lunch the twins disappeared to the stable and Anomen sat lonely in their room.  Before too long, however, Erestor arrived to tell him that he had been summoned to Elrond's chamber.

When Anomen arrived at Elrond's sanctum, he found Glorfindel and Elrond sitting side by side.  They did not invite Anomen to likewise take a seat.  He stood uneasily before them.  Suddenly he realized that he had a dreadfully irritating itch between his shoulder blades, but he did not dare tend to it.

Several minutes passed in silence, the elf-lords staring steadily at Anomen, who was unable to meet their eyes.

"Anomen," Elrond said suddenly.  The elfling jumped.

"Ye-es, my Lord."

"You tampered with Elladan and Elrohir's arrows, is that not so?"

There was no use in denying it.

"Yes, Lord Elrond," Anomen said softly.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel and nodded.  The balrog-slayer arose from his chair and stood towering over the elfling, who by now was quaking.

"Anomen," growled Glorfindel in a dreadful voice, "no matter what tricks a warrior may play upon his comrades, he NEVER EVER tampers with their weapons.  NEVER EVER."  After glaring down at the elfling for several minutes, Glorfindel at last resumed his seat.  Anomen continued to stand trembling.

Elrond spoke more gently now.  "Do you know why you must never tamper with your comrades' weapons?"

Anomen spoke so softly that the elf-lords had to strain to hear him.

"A warrior may be called upon at a moment's notice to defend his life and the lives of his people.  He must always be in readiness.  That means his weapons must always be in readiness."  Even more softly, Anomen added, "I crossed a boundary."

"Look at me, Anomen," said Elrond.

Reluctantly, Anomen looked up at Elrond.

"You have answered wisely, Anomen.  I trust that this incident will never be repeated."

"Oh, no, Lord Elrond!  Never!  Never ever!"

The elf-lord nodded.  "Good.  Of course, this incident is not quite at an end.  I am sure Elladan and Elrohir will be waiting for their chance to exact vengeance."

Anomen cringed.  Would it be safe to sleep tonight?  He doubted it.

Elrond smiled a little and turned to Glorfindel.

"Mellon-nîn, do you remember how we used to torment each other when we were elflings?"

Glorfindel chuckled.  "Indeed, I remember well."

"What prank outraged you the most?"

"I think it was the time you soaked the twigs I used to clean my teeth in some substance that turned my teeth orange."

Now Elrond chuckled.  "Aye!  I remember that incident.  I was very vigilant afterward, but you waited several months and at last had the satisfaction of turning _my teeth purple."_

Both Elves laughed heartily.  Anomen looked at both of them in amazement as they continued to reminisce about the japes and tricks that they had indulged in as young Elves.

"Well," said Glorfindel at last, "much as I am enjoying this conversation, there are matters that must be attended to.  Elrond, you are of course correct in saying that this incident is not quite at an end.  Anomen, you will accompany me to the armory.  There are arrows that need to be repaired—and before you eat any dinner, I might add."

"Yes, my Lord," said Anomen meekly.

Hours later, Anomen at last staggered into the room he shared with Elrond and Elladan.  The twins looked as if they were sound asleep, their eyes open but glazed over in the fashion of Elves lost in dreams.  Even so, Anomen was afraid to allow himself to rest.  He perched on the edge of his bed staring at the twins, watching for any sign that the twins were dissembling.  He was very tired, however, and repeatedly found himself swaying, his eyes losing their focus.  At last he gave in and lay down.  After all, he thought to himself, even if he stayed awake the whole night, he would only be delaying the inevitable.  The twins would pay him back, of that he was certain.

Sure enough, when he awoke the next morning, the twins were gone and Anomen's head felt rather odd.  He dragged himself to the mirror and groaned.  Whilst he had slept, the twins had shaved either side of his head, leaving a strip standing up in the middle.  Anomen resignedly dressed and pulled his hood up over his head.

All were seated for breakfast when Anomen entered the dining hall, hood still up.  Anomen hastened to the head table, bowed to Elrond, and took his seat.

"Anomen," said Elrond.

"Yes, Lord Elrond?"

"We do not wear hoods at the table."

Elladan and Elrohir were shaking with silent laughter.

"I am very cold, Lord Elrond," Anomen said in a pitiful voice.  "May I not keep my hood on this one time?

"No, Anomen, you may not."

Sighing, Anomen slipped the hood from his head.

"Anomen," cried Arwen, "what has happened to your hair?"

"It disappeared during the night."

Arwen looked alarmed.  "Will _my hair disappear in the night?"_

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances and grinned.   They sobered rapidly, however, when their father fixed his eye upon them.  In a frosty voice, he declared, "It had better not."

Elladan and Elrohir developed a sudden interest in their plates.  It seemed to their beleaguered father that lately this keen interest in the china on the part of the twins had been increasingly at an alarming rate.

After breakfast, Anomen and the twins returned to their usual routine of morning lessons with Erestor in the library.  It was a subdued class, however, as the twins were still holding themselves aloof from Anomen, and vice versa.  When lessons had concluded for the day, the twins at once vanished, probably heading once again to the stable.  Anomen lingered moodily in the library, running his hands over the bindings of the books stacked so neatly upon the shelves.  Erestor took pity upon him.

"Anomen, here is a book that will cheer you up, I think.  It is a narrative written by Elrond himself.  The later chapters may not interest you, filled as it is with accounts of trade negotiations.  The early chapters, however, I believe you will find quite interesting, even at times amusing.  He writes of some of his adventures with Glorfindel when he was little older than you are now."

Gratefully Anomen accepted the book and returned to his chamber.  After reading a few pages, Anomen realized that Erestor was correct.  Elrond had led a fascinating life, some of his adventures exciting, others funny, many both.  That week Anomen spent at least a little time each day reading Elrond's account.  Between the pleasure he derived from that, and the fact that the twins had begun to speak to him again, by the end of the week Anomen was feeling his usual happy self.

A week to the day after the archery contest, Anomen arose quite early and hastened into the bathing chamber to ready for breakfast.  He spent quite a lot of time preparing this day.  Well scrubbed, hair immaculate, teeth scrubbed, he at least appeared in the dining hall.

"Where are Elladan and Elrohir?" asked Elrond.

"Oh," said Anomen cheerfully, "they were still sleeping when I left the chamber."

Elrond sent a servant to fetch the twins and gave the others permission to commence the meal.  It seemed to be a long time before the twins appeared, and when they did so, it was easy to see that they approached the head table with reluctance.  They bowed to their father but said not a word.  Nor did they eat any of the food that was placed before them.  Elrond spoke after several silent minutes had passed.

"Elladan, Elrohir, why are you not eating?"

Mutely, the two twins looked at him, shaking their heads.  Elrond grew a trifle impatient.

"It is customary for one to speak when addressed by an Elder.  I say again, why are you not eating?"

"Not hungry," mumbled Elrohir, scarcely opening his mouth.

Elrond noticed that the tutor Erestor was shaking with silent laughter.  His eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows went into high alert.

"It is also customary for one to enunciate clearly.  Open your mouth when you speak.  Why is it that you are not hungry?  You ate little enough yesterday!"

Reluctantly, Elrohir at last opened his mouth—and dazzled the onlookers with his bright purple teeth.  Elrond turned to Elladan.  "Now you open your mouth," he commanded.  As he had expected, Elladan's teeth were a radiant orange.

Glorfindel looked at him and smiled.  "It seems to me that no boundaries have been crossed this time," said the balrog-slayer."

Elrond nodded and smiled as well.

"Aye, my friend.  Let us get on with breakfast."

After the meal, Elrond took the twins to his chamber to remove as much as possible of the dye, although several weeks would pass before it was altogether gone.  As for Anomen, he had a book that he needed to return to Erestor, so he made his way to the library.

"Ah, you are finished with the book, I see," said the tutor.  "Did you find it interesting?"

"Oh, yes," Anomen said enthusiastically.  "Many of the stories were quite exciting—and this volume is a treasure trove of information."

"Is that so?" said Erestor.  "Yes, if I do recall correctly, Elrond tended to be quite detailed in his explanations of how he pulled off his various, ah, exploits."

"Yes," agreed Anomen, "quite detailed indeed!"

"Well, my lad, if you ever wish to refresh your memory about the accomplishments of the Lord of Imladris, feel free to once again borrow this book.  I will set it aside in a safe place for you."

"Thank you, Lord Erestor," Anomen replied gratefully.  Why had he ever thought that their tutor was a bit of a stick?

"Pity," sighed Erestor, "that I didn't keep a journal of my own.  Some of my exploits came near equaling Elrond's.  Be that as it may," he said briskly, "I shall just have to live vicariously through you, Anomen.  For now, however, take your seat and we will resume our study of the geography of Gondor."

Anomen sighed.  Some things would never change.  But at least, he thought, spirits brightening, he was sure of having a stock of ideas—appropriate ones!—for defending himself against the combined onslaught of Elladan and Elrohir.  Otherwise, he thought, the upcoming century would have proved to be a very long one indeed!


	2. The Target

**The previous chapter was meant to be a one-shot, but a couple of readers want a bit more of Anomen as a younger elfling, so here's another chapter.  At least one more chapter will be forthcoming after this one.**

            "Keep your eye on the target!  Keep your eye on the target!" grumbled Elrohir.  "If I hear Glorfindel say that _one more time_!"

            Elladan groaned and threw his quiver upon the nearest bed.  At Anomen's reproving glance, he picked it up and put it away properly.  "Honestly, Anomen, you have gotten so particular lately about the care of weapons.  I think you bestow more attention only to dressing that precious hair of yours!  Of course," he added with a giggle, "for the time being Elrohir and I have simplified matters for you by leaving only that strip to tend in the middle!"

            Anomen ignored that last comment.

            "Yes," Elladan chimed in.  "Don't be such a stick, Anomen.  I swear you have picked up a thing or two from Erestor!"

            Anomen grinned.  He wasn't about to let on exactly how much he _had_ picked up, courtesy of his tutor.

            Elrohir was rubbing his right arm.  "I swear I have drawn my bow a thousand times today."

            Elladan stared morosely at his fingers.  "I don't think I'll be able to straighten these for a week. 'Keep your eye on the target!  Keep your eye on the target!'" he declaimed in a passable imitation of Glorfindel.

            "Wish there was a target on his bum," growled Elrohir.  All three elflings laughed at the thought of a target on the bottom of the balrog-slayers.  Suddenly Elrohir grew quiet.

            "And why not?" he said softly.

            "Why not what?" said Anomen nervously.  Ai! He suspected he knew _what._

            "A target on Glorfindel's bum.  He's teaching a class of the youngest elflings this afternoon.  Can you imagine those little ones trying to concentrate if Glorfindel had a target on his bum?

            "Oh, that would make a wonderful spectacle!" exclaimed Elladan enthusiastically.

            "I don't think that would be a good idea," objected Anomen.  "I think we'd be crossing a boundary if we did such a thing."

            "See," said Elrohir accusingly, "Elladan is right, Anomen.  You are a stick."

            "I am not," said Anomen indignantly.  "I just don't think it would be a good idea."

            "Because you are a stick," declared Elladan triumphantly.

            Anomen fell silent in the face of such logic.  Elrohir began to rummage about for a square of parchment, and Elladan fetched a quill and a bottle of ink.  Elrohir set to work drawing concentric rings, and before too long he held up a passable target.

"We need some way to attach it to Glorfindel's bum," said Elrohir.

"Pine sap," suggested Elladan.  "Let's rub pine sap all over the back of it.  Then I'll distract Glorfindel whilst you bump up against him.  You, Anomen," he added, turning to the reluctant elfling, "since you are so leery of this prank, we will merely ask you to serve as lookout.  Will you do that?"

Anomen agreed, but he was not at all happy.

Later that afternoon the elflings put their plan into acting.  The littlest elflings were assembling on the field—they reached scarcely to the knee of the balrog-slayer—when the three older elflings arrived.  Glorfindel looked balefully at them.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.  "This is not your class."

"Lord Glorfindel," Elladan said politely, "I was thinking about what you said earlier about the deficiencies in my grip.  I plan to practice a little on my own this afternoon.  Pray demonstrate to me one last time the proper way of holding the bow so that my efforts shall not in vain."

Pleased at the elfling's diligence, Glorfindel quickly showed him the correct grip, adjusting his hands and arms until his stance was a classic one.  "There," he said approvingly.  "If you hold your bow in this fashion, your accuracy shall improve tenfold.  Of course," he added, "you must also keep your eye on the target."

Just at that moment Elrohir bumped into Glorfindel's back.  The balrog-slayer whipped about.

"Oh, I am sorry, Lord Glorfindel," Elrohir apologized.  "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Now you're another one who needs to learn to keep his eye on the target!" snorted Glorfindel.

"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," Elrohir replied meekly, "I promise you that this afternoon I shall practice staring fixedly at it."

"See that you do," declared the weapons-master, dismissing them.  The two elflings bowed and hastened away.  They rejoined Anomen, and the three of them crawled into the woods nearby to watch the ensuing chaos.

"Now," said Glorfindel to the littlest elflings, "let us review yesterday's lesson.  What is the first principle of archery?"

"Keep your eye on the target," chorused his pupils.

"Very good.  You see across the field a row of targets, one for each of you.  I want you to fix your eyes upon your target."

With that, Glorfindel turned his back upon his class to gesture across the field.  A murmur of confusion arose amongst the assembled elflings.  Glorfindel looked over his shoulder at his pupils.  "Silence!  You know that it is not permitted for you to talk without permission during this class."

The elflings fell obediently silent.  A few among them had been thinking of mentioning to Glorfindel that he had a target on his bottom.  These few, cowed, decided that perhaps they had better not.

"Now hold your bows in your left hand so," said Glorfindel, demonstrating.  "Very good.  Draw an arrow from your quiver, nock it, draw back the string slowly—eyes on target!—aim, release."

Their eyes fluttering back and forth between the targets across the field and the nearer target on Glorfindel's bottom, the hapless elflings released their arrows.  The results were predictable.  Arrows were scattered about the field seemingly at random.  A very few had hit the cross-field targets, but none had landed anywhere near a bull's eye.  Glorfindel gazed at the scene in astonishment.  This class had done far better the previous day.  Whatever could have gone wrong?

Concealing his bewilderment and speaking with forced calmness, Glorfindel instructed the elflings to lower their bows and retrieve their projectiles.  After they had done so, he had them repeat the exercise—with no better results than at first.  Again and again, Glorfindel had the elflings go through the same sequence; again and again the results were lamentable.  At last Glorfindel began to abandon all semblance of calm.  As for the elflings, they were now tired and edgy.

Reader, you know perfectly well the inevitable outcome of this situation.  One particularly weary elfling, told for the umpteenth time to fix his eye on the target, obediently did so.  But the target he fixed his eyes upon—well, you can easily guess which one it was.  An unwitting Glorfindel gave the order to release the arrows.  Seconds later, the balrog-slayer let out an indignant shriek, spun around, and gazed about in search of the offending archer.  It was not hard to find him.  All the other elflings had drawn several steps back.  There stood the unfortunate little archer, quaking, as the legendary balrog-slayer stormed over to him.

"What do you have to say for yourself," demanded the furious elf-lord.

The little archer stammered, "L-l-ord Glorfindel, at-at least I-I did hit the-the target."

"**_What?_"**

"I-I did hit the target.  'Twasn't a bull's eye, I know, but I did hit it."

Nonplussed, Glorfindel twisted about to get a view of his backside.  There fluttered the target.

"Oooh," he breathed, "there will be Mordor to pay for this."


	3. The Strap

Greetings, _Dragonfly, Konzen, Farflung, Kitsune, and _Karri_.  See what you have done!?  Remember that Pippin urged Merry not to talk to Treebeard?  "You'll only encourage him!" cried Pippin.  Well, you've gone and encouraged me.  See if you can stop me now!_

            Elladan and Elrohir had been watching with delight as Glorfindel's class had been thrown into chaos by the target fastened to the elf-lord's bottom.  Even Anomen had smiled a few times, although he could not shake the nagging feeling that this prank was outside the pale.  Ai! His fears proved to be prescient!  All three elflings stared, horrified, as an arrow bloomed in the balrog-slayers's backside.  They took to their heels and did not stop until they reached the stable, where they huddled in an empty stall.

            "May the Valar protect us!" Elladan whispered fervently.  "Glorfindel will send us to the Halls of Mandos for this!"

            "If Mandos will have us," said Elrohir gloomily, "which I doubt.  Where do you suppose Orcs go after death?" he added.

            The three elflings looked at each other in dismay.  Elladan was trembling.  "I-I-I wonder if we could become Dwarves," he stammered.

            "We're not stout enough," said Anomen miserably.

"We could pad ourselves," said Elladan hopefully.

Elrohir shook his head.  "We'd grow too tall.  And," he added sadly, "we have no beards and will never have them."

"Maybe we can ask Mithrandir to cast a spell upon us to make us hairy," Elladan suggested.

Anomen shuddered.  Then his face lit up.  "I have a better idea.  We are the same height as the young of humans, and we will grow to be as tall as their warriors.  It is true that we will have no beards, but it is the custom of some Men to scrape the hair from their faces."

"Doesn't that hurt?" asked Elladan.

"_I don't know," replied Anomen shortly.  "Besides, it doesn't matter—__we're not going to be the ones scraping off facial hair.  We merely need to blend in with Men who _do_."_

"Oh, of course," said Elladan, embarrassed, "but what about our ears?  Humans have plain ears."

"That can be easily managed," said Anomen confidently.  "We must take out our braids and let our hair cover his ears.  Oh, no," he wailed, suddenly remembering the haircut Elladan and Elrohir had given him.  "I haven't got any hair to cover my ears!"

"Truly all our pranks have gone awry," cried Elladan.  "What shall we do?"

"Well," said Elrohir thoughtfully, "Anomen didn't want to have anything to do with our latest prank in the first place.  He really shouldn't have to run away.  So it doesn't matter about his hair, really."

"Oh, no," said Anomen loyally.  "In the end I did go along with your plan, and in the eyes of Elrond and Glorfindel, I will be just as responsible as you are.  Never mind my hair.  It will grow as we travel, for we must journey far beyond Dunland before we dare try to join a settlement of Men.  Dunlendings do not scrape their faces.  Also, Dunland is too near to Imladris.  Elves pass through frequently on their way to the Gap of Rohan."

"Where shall we go, then?" asked Elladan.  "Rohan itself?"

"No," said Elrohir.  "There is much commerce between the Rohirrim and the Elves."

"Where then!?"

"Gondor," declared Elrohir.

"Gondor!  So far to the south?  That is leagues away!  And what," shuddered Elladan, "if we should encounter Southrons?"

That gave the elflings pause.  Every step that took them toward Gondor would also be taking them toward Harad.  It was long before any of them spoke.  At last Anomen broke the silence.

"There are Men to the west I have heard.  Wait!"  Inspiration suddenly struck him.  "There are not only Men to the west.  To the west lies the land of the Periannath!"

Elladan and Elrohir stared at him.

"Ye-es," said Elrohir, "and you are thinking—what?"

"Let us masquerade as Periannath," Anomen said excitedly.  They have pointed ears and grow no beards—I have heard Mithrandir say so."

"But," objected Elladan, "I have also heard Mithrandir say that they have hairy feet and are even shorter than Dwarves."

"We could keep our boots on," suggested Anomen.

"What about our height?" asked a skeptical Elrohir.

"Walk stooped over?"

Elladan and Elrohir both shook their heads.  "No," said Elrohir, "we had best pretend to be human.  I deem that disguise will cause the fewest complications.  Besides, Mithrandir would discover us if we fled to the land of the Periannath.  The study of that folk is his particular hobby.  Only with the Elves does he spend more time."

  "Then," said Anomen.  "The only question to be answered is whether we should go west or south."

"I vote west," said Elladan.  "I do not wish to draw near to Harad!"

"Yes," agreed Anomen.  "I think it would be better to go west."

"Very well," said Elrohir.  "West it will be.  Now we had better make haste and gather provisions.  I am sure that it will not be too long before our presence will be requested in Ada's chamber!  Indeed, one of had better serve as scout and keep apprised of Glorfindel's whereabouts.  Anomen, skulking is your specialty.  Will you do the honors?"

"Skulking!?" objected Anomen.

"Oh, very well, then!  _Reconnoitering if you insist!  But will you concede that you are the best at it?"_

"At reconnoitering, yes.  You and Elladan will pack for me?"

"Aye.  Now let us go across the garden and up the trellis.  It wouldn't do to go in the front door, would it!?"

The three were soon in their chamber.  Elladan and Elrohir set about hastily packing whatever they thought might be needful for the three of them.  For his part, Anomen cracked open the door and looked out cautiously.  No one was in sight.  He slipped out and made his stealthy way toward Elrond's chamber.  As he approached, he heard the raised voice of an indignant Glorfindel.  The door was ajar, and he peeked through the space between door and frame.

"Elrond, for this they must be punished severely—**_severely!_**"

"Aye, Glorfindel," said Elrond soothingly.  "But you must hold still long enough for me to extract that arrow."

Glorfindel was pacing up and down.  He would pause from time to time.  When he did so, Elrond would approach him, but each time, just as Elrond drew near, Glorfindel would whirl about and begin pacing anew.

"Glorfindel!" Elrond at last cried in frustration.  "Please stand still long enough for me to remove that arrow!"

Glorfindel sighed and stopped his pacing.  "Very well.  This is going to be painful isn't it?  Well, I console myself that later it will be painful for those elflings!"

"Painful, oh, yes, it will be painful.  Wait a minute."  Elrond looked around the room for some object.  He did not see what he needed.  "No matter," he said.  "This will do," he added, unbuckling his belt.

Anomen did not wait to see any more.  As quickly as possible he returned to the chamber he shared with the twins.  "Elladan!  Elrohir!  Your father is taking off his belt!"

The twins stared at each other, petrified.

"Ai!" wailed Elladan.  "Ada has told us that Men whip their offspring!  Ai!"

"Here!" cried Elrohir, thrusting Anomen's pack at him, "gather your weapons and let us go!"

In a trice the three elflings had scrambled down the trellis and were sprinting through the garden.  Meanwhile, back in Elrond's chamber, the Lord of Rivendell had handed his belt to Glorfindel.

"Here, my friend, you may bite down upon this as I examine and treat your injury".

"Thank you, Elrond," said Glorfindel.  He positioned the strap in his mouth and winced as Elrond began to probe the wound.

"It will not be too difficult to draw this forth.  Ready?"

"Mmph."

"Good.  One, two, three."

"MMMPH!"

"Now for a bit of salve.  There, that should do it.  You will not be riding for several days, I am afraid.  As to the matter of the punishment of Anomen and the twins, should I summon them at once or would you prefer to wash and dine first?"

Glorfindel's temper had improved somewhat with removal of the projectile.  He sighed, "In truth, Elrond, the matter will keep.  I wish not only to wash and dine, but to sleep as well.  In the morning, when I have rested and have all my faculties about me, no doubt I will be able to propose a suitable punishment for those three."

"Very well, mellon-nîn.  Until tomorrow."

"Aye, until tomorrow."


	4. A Question of Direction

**Folks, I'm trying to get the directions right.  I know that in the previous story I said the elflings planned to flee 'north'.  I should have typed 'west'.  Anyway, when I went to correct and upload the new version, I ended up typing 'east' instead!  Don't ask me why!  Just careless haste, I guess.  So I corrected and uploaded all over again.  At some point, the right version should show up.  Just keep in mind as you read this installment that initially Anomen and the twins were heading west.  Otherwise their change of direction in this part of the story won't make sense.**

            Anomen and the twins did not appear for dinner that night, but Elrond had not expected that they would.  He informed the Head Cook that the elflings were likely to pay a surreptitious visit to the kitchen that night, and he ordered that this one time they be allowed to scavenge something to eat without retribution on the part of the kitchen staff.  Elrond preferred never to put a punishment into effect until he had had a chance to talk with the offender, so depriving the elflings of dinner was not on the menu, so to speak.

            After the elflings had crept out of the garden, Elladan and Elrohir were all for heading straight to the stable and taking their horses.

"'Twouldn't be stealing," declared Elrohir.  "They're _our horses_."

"Besides," added Elladan, "we can't be punished for taking them—we won't be here!"

"That's not the point," argued Anomen.  "Horses leave tracks.  We must take to the tree canopy.  If we do not, we'll be dragged back to Rivendell before morn."

"Well," said Elladan thoughtfully, "Anomen is the expert at running away.  I suppose we had better listen to him."

 "But we'd be able to move faster on horses," objected Elrohir.

"Not as fast as a troop of elven scouts in hot pursuit on a trail plain to see," declared Anomen.

Elrohir had to reluctantly concede that Anomen was probably right.

"But we do need to go by the stable," added Anomen.

"Why?" asked Elladan, puzzled.

"Yes," said Elrohir.  "If we are not taking the horses, why waste time going to the stable?"

"Because," Anomen explained patiently, "we are going to loose the horses and send them toward Eregion.  That will buy us some extra time.  First the scouts will have to trail the horses south.  Then they'll have to retrace their steps to Rivendell before they will have any chance of picking up our tracks."

Elladan and Elrohir looked respectfully at their friend.

"Anomen," exclaimed Elladan, "however did you get to be so clever at absconding!?"

"Oh," said Anomen loftily, "once you've eluded an Orc or two, running away from home is really nothing—nothing at all."

With that the elflings hurried to the stable, which was deserted since all were at dinner.  They led their horses out of their stalls and through the gates of Rivendell.  Once beyond the wall, the elflings whispered elvish instructions into the ears of their erstwhile steeds and had the satisfaction of seeing them trot off obediently toward Eregion. 

"Now," declared Anomen, "into the trees!"

The agile elflings sprang into the nearest tree.  From there they nimbly leaped onto branches in an adjacent tree, and on to the next tree, and the next.  Anomen was better at this form of locomotion than Elladan and Elrohir, but the twins did well enough for the trio to make steady progress.  Throughout the night they traveled in this fashion.  As the sun arose, they stopped and listened intently.

"I do not hear anything," said Elladan hopefully.  "Do you?" he asked his brother.

"No.  Anomen, do you hear anything."

Anomen stood quite still, brow furrowed, head cocked to one side as if he did indeed hear something.

"Anomen?" repeated Elrohir, beginning to be worried at the intensity of his friend's expression.

"Hush!" Anomen continued to listen.  At last he shook his head, bewildered.  "Nothing is near, although I hear the murmuring of distant trees.  But I cannot make out what they are saying."

"Distant trees?  To the south or the west?" asked Elladan.

"To the west."

This was bad.  They may very well be heading toward danger.

"Perhaps," suggested Elrohir, "we should go east."

"Or north!" cried Elladan.

Anomen shook his head.  "To the north lies the Northern Waste; to the east lies the Misty Mountains."

Elrohir had a sudden inspiration.  "Does no one live in the Northern Waste?"

"Of course, you Troll-brain!" scoffed Elladan.  "Why do you think it is called that in the first place!?"

Elrohir glared at Elladan but did not deign to answer.  "Anomen," he said, turning instead to his friend, "if no one lives in the Northern Waste, then that would be the perfect place for us!"

Anomen looked doubtful.  "I do not believe that we could survive on our own."

"Oh, and why not!?" asked Elrohir haughtily.  "Do you doubt your skills as a hunter?"

Anomen gave him a freezing glance.  "Do not forget," he said icily, "that I know what it is to be an exile.  It is not an experience that I would recommend.  No," he continued, "we must dwell amongst folk, be they Men, Dwarves, or Elves."

The three stood silent for a while, pondering their options, which seemed few.

"I think," Anomen at last said slowly, "that we should cross the Misty Mountains and so on to Lothlórien"

"Lothlórien!" cried the twins in unison.  "But we are known there!"

"Aye," said Anomen.  "The Lord Celeborn is your grandfather, and the Lady Galadriel your grandmother.  If we were to journey there, surely they would intercede with your father on our behalf.  We will tell them about the strap, and they would not send us back to Imladris without first extracting a promise from Elrond that he reconsider our punishment."

"Anomen, you are brilliant!" exclaimed Elladan.  "Elrohir and I should have thought of this in the first place.  Of course our grandmother and grandfather will give us sanctuary."

With renewed hope, the three elflings turned east and made for the Misty Mountains.

As they were reaching this fateful decision, Elrond was sending a servant to summon them to breakfast.

"Well," he said to Glorfindel, "they must be dreadfully frightened.  They hid during dinner, and now they have not appeared for the morning meal."

"They should be frightened," smirked Glorfindel.

"You have settled upon their punishment?"

"Oh, yes.  They will be responsible for fletching all shafts until the turn of the moon, _and_ they will be in charge of the littlest elflings until the turn of _two_ moons."

Elrond nodded gravely.  "A most appropriate punishment, my friend, involving as it does arrows and elfling archers."

"Yes, I thought you would find it suitable," chortled Glorfindel.  At that moment the servant returned.

"My Lord, your sons are not in their chamber."

Elrond smiled.  "They _are_ terrified.  No doubt they spent the night in their favorite refuge, the stable.  Pray fetch them from whatever stall they have hidden themselves in."

The servant bowed and did as he was commanded.  Before too long he was back again.  Elrond raised an eyebrow when he saw that the servant returned alone.

"My Lord, your sons are not at the stable.  Nor are their horses in their stalls."

Elrond's other eyebrow shot up.  "Not in their stalls?"

"No, my Lord," the servant repeated patiently.  "Neither horses nor elflings are in the stalls."

Glorfindel groaned.  "And I cannot ride.  I am so sorry, my friend!"

"Sorry?  Why should you be sorry?  'Twas my sons who fixed matters so that you cannot ride."  Elrond sighed.  "I will see to this myself.  They should be easy to track."

The Lord of Imladris arose from the breakfast board wondering what he had ever done for the Valar to afflict him so.  It would not be the last time that he would ask this question!


	5. Fallen Elf

            The elflings had left the forest behind and were ascending one of the Misty Mountains.  This was not an environment to which they were accustomed, but could scaling a mountain be that much different from climbing a tree?  True, sometimes the stones rolled under their feet, but trees presented their own set of perils.  A branch might be rotten, for example, and break under one's weight, and a limb might be further away than it had first seemed.  The elflings had never had difficulty dealing with the unexpected in the canopy, and they were thus confident that climbing a mountain would not in itself be an obstacle.  They did fear lest they encounter Orcs or Trolls, but Trolls would surely not come out in daylight, and Orcs were unlikely to do so.  If they were careful to hide during the nighttime hours, they would have nothing to fear.

Of course, climbing the mountain was proving to be unexpectedly tiring.  They found themselves backtracking quite often.  A promising route would peter out, leaving them gazing with frustration at an insurmountable overhang or at a smooth rock face that provided no purchase for their hands and feet.  Back they would clamber to start over on another path.

Anomen seemed to have encountered just such a dead end.  He was in the lead and had been inching up a narrow shelf for a good hour.  Now the ledge had come to an end.  Dismayed, he looked about for any alternative to retracing their steps and losing a good two hour's effort—one hour up, one hour down.

"We had best go back," called Elrohir.  "It will soon be dark."

"No," Anomen called back, not yet willing to concede defeat.  "This shelf ends, but I see where it picks up again.  There is only a little gap, and I can leap across it as easily as I leap from limb to limb in the canopy."

"Are you sure?" Elladan asked doubtfully.  "There is no moss below for you to land upon if you are wrong!"

Anomen laughed.  "Yes, I am quite sure."  With that he did indeed spring across the gap with ease.  Smiling, he turned to beckon to Elladan and Elrohir.

Ai! The distance was indeed short, but the shelf was but weakly attached to the rock face.  Even as Anomen raised his hand to wave on his friends, the ledge gave way.  A look of surprise on his face, the elfling fell backward in a shower of dust and rock and plummeted from view.

"Anomen!" shrieked the twins simultaneously.  Silence.

 "We have got to find him!" cried Elladan.  Half climbing, half sliding, the twins descended as quickly as they could until they reached the side of their friend.  He had fallen no less than thirty feet and landed on his back.  Luckily, he had just missing two jagged boulders, one of which lay to his right, the other his left.  But he was obviously hurt.  His eyes were closed, and he was moaning.

"Anomen!  Please open your eyes!" Elrohir begged.  "Saes!  Saes!"

Anomen struggled to look up at his friends and succeeded in partially opening his eyes.

"Can you speak, Anomen?" asked Elladan.

"Yes!" gasped Anomen.

"Praise the Valar," breathed Elladan.  "He is conscious, and he can speak.  Tell us where you hurt, Anomen."

"My legs," moaned Anomen.

"Your legs hurt?" said Elrohir.  "Perhaps they are broken.  We must splint them."

"No," whimpered Anomen.  "They don't hurt."

"Oh, good," sighed Elrohir in relief.  "Then they must not be broken after all."

"I can't feel them!" cried Anomen.  "And I can't move them!"

Appalled, Elrohir stared across Anomen at his brother Elladan for a long moment.  At last Elladan broke the silence.

"We dare not move him."

Elrohir nodded.

"One of us must go for help.  The other must stay with Anomen and see that he drinks plenty of water and stays warm."

Still unable to speak, Elrohir again nodded.

"Elrohir, I won our last footrace.  I will go for help."

Elrohir at last spoke, although so softly that Elladan had to strain to hear him.

"Very well, Elladan.  Go as swiftly as you can."

"I will, brother."

Elladan shrugged off his pack.  "I will leave everything with you save my weapons."

"Nay, brother, you must at least take a water flask."

Elladan shook his head.  "In the lowlands we passed many creeks.  I will not want for water once I have descended this mountain.  You, however, will have no means of refilling your flasks—and Anomen must not be allowed to suffer thirst."

"That is true.  How much water is in your flask?"

"It is nearly full."

"Good.  Between our three flasks, I should be able to keep him comfortable for two days, if not three."

"Do not forget to take a little water yourself from time to time!"

"Oh, I will, brother."

Elladan looked at him doubtfully.  "You will do no good for Anomen if you fall ill from thirst!"  He arose.  "Farewell, Elrohir.  I will soon return with Ada."

"We will be here waiting, Elladan—you may be sure of it!"

Elladan allowed himself a small smile and began to scramble down toward the base of the mountain.  Once he was out of sight, Elrohir turned his attention toward making Anomen as comfortable as possible.  He wondered if he should slip anything under Anomen's head as a pillow, but then he realized that he dared not do anything that might jostle the elfling's spine.  The sun was falling, and it was cold in the mountains at night.  Elrohir knew that he could not light a fire because it might be spotted by an Orc or Troll.  He unpacked all their blankets and carefully covered his friend, whose eyes were again closed.  Then he wrapped his arms around himself and prepared to keep vigil.

"Elrohir?"

He jumped.  He had not realized that Anomen was awake.

"Do you need anything, Anomen?  Are you thirsty?"

"Nay.  I just wanted to make sure that you were there."

"I will not leave you, my friend.  Be sure of that."

Anomen sighed and then, to Elrohir's surprise, he laughed a little.

"You can laugh?"

"I was just thinking, Elrohir, that now Elrond will be unlikely to hit me on the backside with a strap."

"Well, _that is no doubt true," agreed Elrohir.  "But once we get you safely back to Rivendell, I would be more than happy to take on your share in addition to mine!"  He shivered a little as the last light of the sun waned but comforted himself with the thought that Anomen was warm._

As the sun set upon the Misty Mountains, it likewise set upon Rivendell, where a crestfallen Elrond was passing through the gates with a line of three horses in tow.  He had pursued—or so he had thought—the elflings into Eregion only to come upon riderless horses trotting steadily southward.  There had been no sign of a struggle along the way, and so he instantly divined the nature of the trick that had been played upon him.  "That will have been Anomen," he mused, his frustration tempered by his respect for the cleverness of the elfling.  "Someday that young one will truly be a most cunning warrior.  This shrewdness must be nurtured—but under more appropriate circumstances!"

The elf-lord handed over the horses to the care of a stable hand and went off in search of Glorfindel.  He found him with Erestor sitting in companionable silence in the Hall of Fire.

"You have found Anomen and the twins?"

"No, but I have found their horses."

Glorfindel sat erect, alarm upon his face.  Elrond laughed.  "Do not fear, my friend.  They were not separated unwillingly from their horses."  Quickly he explained to Glorfindel the trick he believed to have been played upon him.

"Hmm," said Glorfindel.  "Not a bad piece of work for ones so young.  Then they did not go south?"

"No, I do not believe that they did."

"Which only leaves," Erestor said sardonically, "north, east, and west."

Elrond sighed.  "Aye, but even if we had only one direction to consider, I doubt if we would be able to pick up their trail.  Anomen's footprints are all over this successful flight from Rivendell—or rather I should say that his footprints are _not_ all over it.  I have no doubt that Anomen led our little band into the tree canopy.  We cannot track them."

"So we will—?"

"Wait.  Send out word of course, but we can do little until news filters back of three feral elves roaming the wilderness."

Erestor looked horrified.

"I only jest.  They will not turn feral.  They will fend for themselves well enough for the time being—there are three of them, after all, and young as they are they have some skill as scouts and hunters.  At last someone will stumble across them, or they will tire of the game and return of their own accord."  Elrond reached for a wine glass.  "Perhaps," he said wryly, "we should view this time as a well-deserved rest from the demands placed upon us by our responsibility for the young."

"_I will drink to that," declared Glorfindel vehemently._

"I as well," said Erestor with equal vehemence.

The three friends drank their toast, and then Elrond, tired from his futile pursuit of the elflings, declared his intention to turn in for the night.  Erestor and Glorfindel soon followed his example.  For Elladan and Elrohir, however, there would be no rest that night.  Elrohir continued to keep vigil by the side of his friend, and Elladan trotted with dogged determination toward Rivendell.


	6. The Kindness Of A Stranger

_MoroTheWolfGod__: I'm hurrying!  I'm hurrying!_

_Kitsune__: Actually, this trip they are captured neither by Orcs nor Trolls.  Thought I'd try something new.  Don't want my audience to get jaded.  After all, then I wouldn't get all these encouraging reviews!_

_Farflung__: Yes, it's a good sign that at this point they realize that they _really, really_ need the help of adults.  Also, yes, Elrond is going to have something to say about the fact that his sons would ever have thought that he would whip them.  And a punishment for evading punishment will be added on top of the punishment already planned.  Uh, I think that last sentence makes sense._

_Karri: _Well, that's what you get for taking a day off!  Heh heh heh.  ^_^

_Dragonfly: _So you thought I'd unleash Orcs on them!  Glad I was able to work in a surprise.  I don't want to become totally predictable.

_Elemental Flair:  _It won't be face paint, exactly.  More like body paint.

_Kalendral__: Thank you.  I'm glad to know that the first chapter made you want to read on._

_Jebb__: It may sound corny, but I'm glad that my stories make people happy.  Eeew.  I am such a people-geek!_

_Konzen__: Yeah, I'll bet there are some days that Glorfindel would rather face a balrog than Elrond's sons!_

            The stars had never crawled across the sky as slowly as they did that night for Elrohir and Anomen.  Unable to move, lying flat on his back, Anomen could do nothing but gaze up at the twinkling lights that seemed to have been fixed for all eternity.  As for Elrohir, the night was if anything longer.  True, he had the use of his limbs, but he spent the whole night wearily reproaching himself.  "It was my idea to fasten a target on Glorfindel's backside," he thought sadly.  "If we hadn't, Anomen would be safe in Rivendell right now."  Elrohir may have been optimistic on that last score; Anomen had shown every sign of being able to get into trouble unaided, thank you very much, so there is no guarantee that he would have been safe in Rivendell had Elrohir not set in motion the ill-fated prank.  Be that as it may, Elrohir blamed himself, and that made the night pass at a worm's pace.

            After awhile, Anomen began to shift about slightly.

            "Lie still, Anomen!   You may hurt yourself!"

            "I know," said Anomen fretfully, "but my foot itches dreadfully."

            "Your foot?"

            "My left foot.  Can't you take off my boot and scratch it for me?"

            "I am afraid to, Anomen.  What if I jostled your spine trying to pull the boot off?"

            "Ooh," moaned Anomen.  "This itch will drive me as crazy as a Troll with a toothache!"

            "I'm sorry," said Elrohir.  "Wait a minute—your _foot_!?"

            "Aye," said Anomen, "my foot—oh!"

            "Your foot itches," said Elrohir solemnly.

            "My foot itches," echoed Anomen.  "And, now I think on it, I don't mind at all!"

            The two stared at each other, eyes shining.

            It seemed to the two elflings that at long last the stars had resumed their nightly dance across the Pavilion of the Valar.

            Elladan, meanwhile, gave no thought to the stars, for his eyes were fixed upon the ground as he tried to run throughout the night without stumbling over obstacles.  As dawn neared, he was still running.  Abruptly, however, he halted.  He had heard, up ahead, the unmistakably sharp crack of a stick breaking.  Someone or something was out there, and directly in the path to Rivendell.  Would he have to lose time detouring about it, whatever it was?  Elladan crept forward to reconnoiter.  Carefully keeping to the cover of the bushes, the elfling slipped up to a small clearing.  There he saw a Man in the process of building a fire, no doubt to prepare his breakfast.  After gathering sticks and breaking them to length, the Man cleared away a small patch of grass down to the bare ground and arranged the sticks upon it.  He drew forth some shavings from a pouch that he wore at his waist, and then, with his flint and steel, he kindled the small fragments of wood, blowing gently upon the tiny flame until the larger sticks began to burn.

            Elladan watched all this with great wariness.  Men did frequent Rivendell—all Folk were welcome there—but by far Elladan was most familiar with Dunlendings, who, it must be admitted, were not the most savory of Men.  He had seen Dunlendings on those occasions when he had ridden with his father to the border of Eregion, beyond which lay the land of Dunland.  This man was no Dunlending, however.  True, he looked scruffy—his clothes worn and travel-stained, his face unshaven—but he carried himself as royally as Lord Celeborn as he moved about the clearing.

            The Man arose and crossed to his pack to draw forth a few items of cookware, as well as a bundle that proved to contain the leftovers of an evening's meal.  He returned to the fire and bent over it as if he meant to warm his hands.  Suddenly he pulled a brand from the fire and strode rapidly across the small clearing until he loomed above the bush behind which Elladan crouched.  In one hand he held the torch; in the other a sword.     

"Come out into the light where I can see you," called the Man.  Elladan decided that it would be wise to obey a Man who apparently had the instincts of an Elf, as well as elf-like grace and speed.  He slowly stood, palms upward.

"An elfling."  The man sheathed his sword and, turning his back on Elladan, returned to the fire.  Once he reached it, he sat down beside it on folded legs.

"I was just about to break my fast.  Come, join me."

"Please, sir, I am not hungry."

"What brings you lurking about my fire then?"

"My foster-brother is badly hurt, sir," Elladan said in a rush.  "Can you—can you?"—in what way could this human help him?—"Have you got a horse!?"

The Man gestured about the clearing.  "Do you see a horse?"

Tears sprang to Elladan's eyes.  "No," he whispered.  "I had best be getting on; I have a long way to go."

"You are heading toward Rivendell, I wager.  It will take you the full turning of a day to reach there even if you do not stop to rest.  How far away is your brother?"

"I ran throughout the night," Elladan said simply.

            "Let me return with you to your brother.  If you go on to Rivendell, it will be at least a day and a half before help would reach him—one full turning of the sun and moon for you to walk to Rivendell, another half one for mounted rescuers to retrace your path."

"He is hurt very badly, sir."

"Then it is all the more important that help reach him quickly.  I have some skill as a healer.  As you come from Rivendell, you must know its Lord, Elrond Peredhil.  He has taught me a thing or two about caring for the ill or injured.  You remind me of him somewhat," the Man added thoughtfully.

Elladan decided to say nothing.  So far the Man had shown him only kindness, but it was wise to be cautious.  He was all the more conscious of this because he now saw how rashly he and his brothers had been behaving over the previous days.    Swiftly, at the insistence of the Ranger, they shared the Man's breakfast.  Then the Ranger carefully obliterated all signs of the camp, and they set out at a rapid pace.  By nightfall they had reached the mountain and were scrambling up toward the spot where Anomen lay.  Anomen and Elrohir heard them as they drew near, and Elrohir carefully crept up upon a rock so that he could peer out and see whether help neared—or whether they were at last in danger of discovery by Orc or Troll.  To his relief, he saw Elladan climbing toward him; to his consternation, he saw that he was accompanied by a Man instead of the elven rescuers he had expected.  Still, Elladan did not seem to be constrained in any way.  Elrohir decided to show himself.  He stood erect.

"Mae govannen!" he hailed his brother.

"I have brought help," Elladan shouted back.

Strangers were often taken aback upon first catching sight of the twins.  The Man, however, was not.  He merely gazed upon them and chuckled.  "Ah, I see that I am in the presence of the famous sons of the Lord of Imladris.  Interesting that you neglected to tell me of that fact," he added, turning to Elladan. "I shall have to tell Elrond that one of his sons is the soul of discretion, saying no more than he must.  He will be pleased to hear of it.  Which twin should I so praise?"

"I am Elladan."

"And that would make you Elrohir," the Man said, turning now to that twin.

Elrohir looked at Elladan.  "Who is he?" he mouthed.

Elladan shook his head.  "I do not know," he mouthed back.

The Man meanwhile had bent over Anomen.  He saw that the elfling was lying perfectly flat, with nothing to pillow his head.

"You have injured your back."  It was a statement, not a question.  He placed his palm against Anomen's right sole.  "Press your right foot against my hand."  He placed his palm against the other sole.  "Now the left foot."

"My left foot itches a little.  It didn't at first."

"That is good.  It itches now?"

"Yes."

"I was afraid to pull his boot off lest I jostle him," said Elrohir.

"Oh, I think we may risk it."  The Man gently eased the boot off Anomen's left foot.  He drew an arrow from his quiver and gently brushed the feathered end across Anomen's sole.  The sole arched and Anomen giggled a little.

"Ah, that is good," said the Man.  He removed Anomen's other boot.   Not telling Anomen, he reversed the arrow and prodded the foot with the point.

"Ow!"

"Excellent.  Now let us get you down from this mountain.  We will have to devise some sort of brace to keep your back quite straight." He looked around him.  "The trees this high are stunted, but you two scavenge about and find the longest, straightest pieces that you can."

Eagerly the twins scrambled up and down the slope until each had an armful of reasonably suitable limbs.  The Man carefully set about strapping them the length of Anomen's body.  "Now so stiff you are," he said at last, "that carrying you will be like bearing a table!  But I can make shift until we are at the base of the mountain.  Then we will find better wood and prepare a proper stretcher."

Carefully, the Man bore Anomen down the mountain, the twins assisting by carrying the Man's pack and weapons.  When they reached the base of the mountain, the Man put Anomen gently down.

"Elladan," he said, "you and I will build a stretcher, and when it is ready, we will begin to pace slowly toward Rivendell.  Elrohir," he said, turning to the other twin, "Elladan has already journeyed at rapid speed for a full day.  It is now your turn.  Hasten now to Rivendell, and lead your father toward us."

Elrohir set off at a dead run.  At footraces, Elladan had always excelled, but Elrohir was now to prove his mettle at endurance running.  For he ran the entire distance, never stopping save to quickly slake his thirst from this creek or that.  He covered the distance to Rivendell in half the full turning of the sun and moon.  Given the unevenness of the terrain, a horse could have done no better.

When Elrohir reached the gates of Rivendell, he was well nigh staggering.  He was thirsty, hungry, and covered in dust, but he waved off the Elves who would have assisted him.  "Where is my father!?" he croaked through his cracked lips.

            "With Lord Glorfindel at the archery field," came the reply.  Elrohir waited to hear no more but once more broke into a run.

            "Ada!" he shouted as he sprinted toward the field.  "Ada!"  He stumbled and fell but pushed himself back onto his feet.  "Ada!"


	7. A Stranger No Longer

**When I reveal the identity of the Man, please be sure to notice his parentage.   The Man in this story does have a connection with another Man who plays a major role in LOTR, but, although they share name and kinship, they are not the same people!**

**Mystery: Someone posted a review under the name 'Kalendar'.  Then 'Kalendar' posted saying that he or she hadn't read the story or posted the review.  According to a note to the real Kalendar from Cheysuli, a software glitch has led to some reviews being misattributed.  The misattributed Kalendar review was a response to Chapter 1 and reads as follows: "What a great story. Funny, cute, original and just nice! I'm off to read more!"  Anyway, if you are the author of that review, and I never thanked you for it, I didn't intend to slight you.  I never got back to you because the review was posted under somebody else's name.**

            It seems that to be a parent is to forever teeter upon the edge of a sword, with joy to one side, and fear to the other.  So it was that Elrond's emotions were balanced precariously between relief and terror—relief at hearing the voice of a son, terror at realizing that he heard only _one_ son, and a frightened son at that.  He cast aside the bow with which he had been whiling away a rare hour of freedom and ran toward the voice of his child.

            "Ada!" gasped Elrohir.  Elrond flung his arms around him in time to prevent his falling once again.

            "Elrohir, you are hurt!?"

            "No, Ada!"

            "And Elladan?"

            "He is well!"

            "Anomen?"

            "Ada, he fell, and he hurt his back, and he cannot move!"

"Cannot move?"

"No, but he can feel a little bit if you poke his foot!"

"Where is he?"

"Elladan and a Man are bringing him along on a stretcher.  I ran ahead to fetch you."

"GLORFINDEL!"

"I have ordered that my scouts mount up.  Your horse has been sent for."

"Thank you, mellon-nîn.  Elrohir, you are weary, but can you guide us to your brothers?"

"Yes, Ada," Elrohir said stoutly.

"That's a brave lad.  At least you can rest whilst we ride.  I will take you up before me."

"Nay, Elrond," Glorfindel objected.  "My horse is larger and stronger than yours.  Elrohir must ride with me."

"Can you ride, Glorfindel?"

"I'll manage."

Elrohir cringed.  He knew why riding might be difficult for Glorfindel!

"Very well," sighed Elrond, reluctant to loose his hold on his son for even a minute but, as always, able to command his emotions at need.

In short order an elven troop thundered through the gates of Rivendell.  Wrapped in a cloak, Elrohir sat securely before Glorfindel, clutching a piece of lembas in one hand and a water bladder in another.

"Glorfindel?" Elrohir said timidly after they had ridden for a fair amount of time.

"Yes, Elrohir?"

"Um, Glorfindel, I hope, um, that you are not, uh, _too_ dreadfully uncomfortable as you ride."

Elrohir could not see the amused expression upon Glorfindel's face.  When the balrog-slayer replied, it was in the usual gruff voice.

"I am as comfortable as can be, I suppose, given the circumstances."

"Oh."  This was not a very encouraging answer.

The two rode on silently for a space.  At last Elrohir dared to speak again.

"Um, Glorfindel, I am sorry you have to go out riding when you are not quite comfortable."

"Yes," said Glorfindel said shortly.  "It does seem like adding insult to injury, doesn't it?"

Oh, dear, thought Elrohir.  This was not good.  Obviously he and his brother were themselves soon going to findriding to be an uncomfortable occupation.  However, he resolved, he was never again going to try to evade a punishment.  'Twould have been far better if they had gotten matters over with instead of trying to run off as they had done.

"Glorfindel," he said, venturing to speak one last time.  "I know I deserve to be just as uncomfortable as you!"

"Oh," said the balrog-slayer dryly, "that can be arranged.  But we will take up that matter later with your father.  For now, look sharp.  We do not want to stray off the path that leads to your brothers."

"This is the right way," said Elrohir, glad to have something else to think about.  "Yonder is the mountain that we tried to climb.  You can just make it out in the distance."

Glorfindel urged his horse onward, and the other riders galloped along in his wake.

Elladan and the Man were laboring along as best they could, given that they were unmatched in height and strength.  The Man was impressed at the elfling's willingness to push forward even when he was so obviously exhausted.  At last he insisted that they stop and make camp.

"But we must get Anomen to Rivendell as quickly as possible!"

"We have made good progress toward your home," said the Man kindly.  "Remember that your brother went to fetch help, and even now your father hastens toward us.  No doubt he will be here soon.  We will lose very little time by stopping to rest.  Indeed, it may be better so.  By lighting a fire, we shall make sure that your father does not miss us in the dark.  Let us camp on that hill, so that the fire will show for many miles."

"But," said Elladan doubtfully, "the fire may draw Orcs or Trolls."

The Man placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword.  "This is no sword of legend—it may be long before my kin reclaim such a weapon—but I assure you that once it has been drawn no Orc or Troll lives to tell tales about it.  Perhaps," he added wryly, "if I did let a few escape, it _would_ be a sword of legend."  The Man laughed softly.

Elladan was bewildered by the Man's talk of 'sword of legend', but he was reassured by the Man's assertion that he had bested Orcs and Trolls with the sword he did carry.  "And I have got my bow," he added bravely to himself.  He agreed that they might make camp, and he helped the man gather wood for a mighty blaze, for this would be a signal beacon rather than a cooking fire.

Far in the distance, the blaze was spotted as soon as it sprang up.

"There, on that hill, do you see that fire?" called Elrond.

"Aye," said Glorfindel.  "No Orc or Troll would set such a blaze.  I wager that if we make for the light, we will find our elflings toasting their toes in comfort."

"It is to be hoped that Anomen can _feel_ his toes," said Elrond grimly.

They rode on, heading directly for the fire.

The elflings and the Man heard the elven party long before it galloped into view.

"Well," said the Man contentedly, "here comes the cavalry."  He arose and peered into the darkness.  "Ah, I'll wager that Glorfindel is amongst them.  It will be good to exchange news with the old balrog-slayer.  Mae govannen," he called as the riders drew near enough to hail

"Mae govannen, Aragorn son of Aravir," Elrond called back.  "It is fortunate indeed that your wanderings have brought you here, else I am sure it would have gone ill with my sons."

"Your sons are brave and doughty, resourceful and discrete," replied the Dúnadan—for it was indeed a Ranger, as you have no doubt guessed.  "They would have returned to you without my aid, although it may have taken a little longer."

"That may be true, but with an injury such as this, speed is important.  I am much indebted to you."

Aragorn inclined his head in acknowledgement.  Elrond had by now dismounted and knelt beside Anomen's stretcher.  He examined the elfling in much the same way as the Ranger had.      

            "Which foot am I pressing upon?" asked Elrond.

            "The right."

            "Which knee am I pressing upon?

            "Also the right."

            "Where am I pressing now?"

            "My left ankle."

            "And now?"

            Anomen looked distressed.  "I do not feel anything at all!"

            "Good.  I wasn't touching you.  Press your left foot as hard as you can against my hand.  Good.  Now the right."  Elrond smiled and straightened himself.

            "Anomen, you have not severed your spine.  You have bruised it, however.  Sensation and strength are beginning to return to your legs as the swelling goes down.  You have been very, very lucky.  Now you will have to be very, very patient.  You will not be up and about in a week, I can assure you!"

            Elladan and Elrohir stood side by side staring at the Dúnadan.  Rangers ventured into Rivendell now and again, but the twins had never paid them any mind.  First of all, they were humans, and the twins had assumed—mistakenly it now seemed—that they lacked the strength and agility of Elves.  Moreover, the Rangers were never much to look at, and they tended to be silent individuals, only upon occasion singing or telling tales, which would have caught the attention of elflings.  Apparently, however, they should have paid more attention to these Dúnadain, judging both from the behavior and demeanor of Aragorn son of Aravir and from the respectful exchange between their father and this Dúnadan.  They would take care in the future to pay greater heed to the Rangers who came into Imladris.

            As Elladan and Elrohir were gazing at the Man of the North, Elrond was considering how best to make their way back to Rivendell.

            "I will help bear the stretcher myself," Elrond declared.  "Aragorn, mellon-nîn, you have been done much and are no doubt weary.  Pray take my horse and ride on to the Hall.  If you would, bear one of my sons before you."

            "Thank you, Elrond.  I shall."  Aragorn beckoned to Elrohir.  "Come, son of Elrond.  We shared the burden of the stretcher; now we shall share a steed in recompense."

            "Glorfindel," said Elrond, turning to that elf-lord.  "Please take up Elladan before you."

            "Nay, Elrond.  I would rather be one of the stretcher-bearers."

            "No, No, that will not be necessary, my friend."

            "Indeed, Elrond, I insist.  Truth be told," said the balrog-slayer, his face reddening slightly, "I would much rather walk back than ride—if you catch my meaning."

            "Oh, oh, yes, of course," exclaimed Elrond.  "I had forgotten.  Well, Elladan cannot manage that great stallion of yours.  Taurmeldir," he called to one of the captains, "please take Elladan up before you."

            "Yes, Lord Elrond."  Taurmeldir reached down a hand and pulled up the elfling.  Accompanied by several other Elves, Taurmeldir and Aragorn rode off toward Rivendell.  The remaining Elves dismounted and led their horses along by the side of the stretcher-bearers as they slowly paced toward home.


	8. The Sunburst

_Kitsune__:  In the genealogy of the descendents of Isildur, there are two Aragorns.  Aragorn son of Arathorn is actually Aragorn II.  In my story, his ancestor, Aragorn I, is the Ranger who comes to the aid of the elflings._

_Jebb__: Hey, you were close.  It was a Ranger, and it was an Aragorn—just Aragorn I instead of Aragorn II._

_Farflung__: Yes, there were two Aragorns.  See my note above to _Kitsune_.  By the way, I agree with you about ROTK.  Of the three movies, my favorite is TT.  In that movie, the introductions and exposition have largely been taken care of, and there is a very balanced movement back and forth between the three plot lines: Frodo & Sam, Pippin & Merry, and Aragorn, Legolas, & Gimli.  ROTK doesn't seem as balanced.  Frodo & Sam are followed in great detail, but the treatment of the other members of the fellowship seemed a bit jumbled and cluttered yet simultaneously undeveloped.  Somehow Aragorn in particular didn't seem to dominate his scenes the way I had expected, given that this movie __is about the 'return of the king'.  O.K.  Now I am probably gonna receive my first flame from somebody.  (Actually, I did get flamed a few days ago, but it was so out of line—obscene language—that I didn't take it seriously as a response to the story or my writing.  It was just somebody getting off on being abusive, I think.  So I just deleted it.)_

_Ky_: _Thank you for your suggestion about listing the order of the stories.  I will be taking your advice, but the list won't show up for a few days because, after I post this chapter, I will be taking a few days off.  A clarification about the sword: Aragorn I is not carrying around the shards of Narsil.  He says that he does not have a 'sword of legend', by which I meant Narsil._

_Karri: _Here's another chapter for you.  Yes, the elflings do learn from the experience.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, Anomen is going to find bed rest to be quite a trial.  Uh oh, I see that you and MoroTheWolfGod are double teaming me!

 _Dragon Confused: Anomen continues to get better in this chapter._

            It had been seven days since Anomen's return to Rivendell—seven very long days.  Anomen chafed at having to stay inside, and the weather seemed determined to mock him.  One fine, sunny day followed another, and he could hear the singing and laughter of other elflings who were making the most of the clear skies and gentle warmth of a beneficent nature.  At least he could console himself that he was now allowed to sit up.  Propped on pillows, he could see outside even if he couldn't go outside.  The first few days he had had only the walls and ceiling to stare at.  As for company, Erestor showed up faithfully—to read from a tome describing the alliance between the Men of Gondor and those of Rohan!  Of course, Arwen also devoted a great deal of time to entertaining him. In fact, she had just now danced through the door.  In one hand she clutched a piece of parchment; in the other she held a paint box.

            "Anomen," she said excitedly, "look at my painting.  Erestor says that it is very good."  She held up the parchment on which she had painted a willow tree.

            "I agree with Erestor, Arwen.  That is a lovely willow."

            Arwen beamed and climbed up to sit on the bed beside Anomen.  She chattered away happily, and Anomen felt his spirits lifted in spite of the fact that he was confined to his bed.  He would have been perfectly contented if only he didn't itch so!  He squirmed about a little and tried to inconspicuously scratch at an especially annoying patch on his wrist.  He was not, however, inconspicuous enough.  Arwen's attention was attracted to the wrist.  She stared intently at it.

             "What is that mark?" she asked.

            "That?  Oh, that is a birthmark."

            Arwen studied it, fascinated.  Erestor had lately been teaching her how to write her numbers.

            "Anomen, that looks just like the number nine!"

            Anomen bent his arm to gaze upon his wrist.

            "I never noticed before, Arwen, but it _does look like the number nine."_

            "Erestor says that I am very good with my numbers," Arwen declared proudly.  I can count from one to one thousand.  Do you want to hear me?"

            Anomen had no engagement to plead, so he had no choice but to listen to Arwen's recitation.

            "Min, tâd, neled, canad, leben, eneg, odog, toloth, neder, caer…."

            As Arwen recited, Anomen's mind drifted to other matters.  He wondered how Elladan and Elrohir were getting on.  He had seen very little of the twins since their return to Rivendell because Erestor and Elrond and Glorfindel had been keeping them extremely busy.  They had their usual lessons with Erestor in the morning.  After lunch, they had to serve their punishment for fastening the target onto Glorfindel—one month of fletching arrows and two months in charge of archery lessons for the littlest elflings.  On top of that, after dinner they had to serve their punishment for running away to avoid the original punishment.  Lord Celeborn had written to Elrond asking for a copy of one of the chronicles in his library, and Elrond had decreed that the twins should be the ones to make this copy.  He had divided the chapters between the two, and they were forced to spend each evening copying, copying, copying.

            At first Elladan and Elrohir had been relieved that their punishment had not been a whipping, but they had changed their minds after several days of fastening feathers to arrows ("The glue smells awful," complained Elladan), instructing tiny elflings ("They won't listen," sighed Elrohir), and scratching quills across parchment ("My fingers hurt worse than they do after archery practice," moaned Elladan).

            "When we were called into Ada's chamber," recounted Elrohir, "Elladan and I were each wearing two pairs of leggings because we were sure that Ada was going to make our backsides as uncomfortable as Glorfindel's had been.  We were so relieved when that did not prove to be the case.  But now," he continued, "I think it would have been better to have gotten it over with!  I wonder why Ada did not after all whip us."

            "Perhaps," suggested Anomen, "because he knew that in the end the other forms of punishment would in a way be more painful."

            "That is surely true, but I don't think it's the only reason," said Elladan thoughtfully.  "Elrohir, when you are fuming over the inattention of the elflings, do you not sometimes wish that we had never caused Glorfindel the sort of trouble that these elflings are causing us?"

            "Yes," Elrohir admitted ruefully.  "If Elrond and Glorfindel wish us to appreciate the tasks that fall to the older Elves and to understand the trouble that we have caused, they could not have chosen better methods."

"…and meneg!" Arwen declared triumphantly, bringing Anomen's mind back into the present.  She noticed that Anomen looked troubled.  "What is the matter?" she asked anxiously.  "Does your back hurt?  Should I fetch Ada?"

Anomen sighed.  How to explain?  He picked something that would be easy for Arwen to understand.  "I miss the sunshine," said Anomen wistfully.  His window faced north.

            "I shall draw you the sun," declared Arwen.

            Anomen smiled.  "I should like that very much."

            Arwen looked about for parchment but saw none to hand.  Just then, Anomen yawned and gaped.  The blanket slipped down his belly—his very flat belly.

            "Oooh," crowed Arwen, "I will draw the sun on your tummy!"

            Anomen laughed, but Arwen looked so enthusiastic that he could not deny her.

            "Very well," he said.  "You may draw a sun on my tummy—but have a care not to tickle me.  I am supposed to be lying quite still, after all."

            When Arwen was finished, Anomen sported a sunburst a little above his belly button.  He had to admit that it looked impressive.

            "What's this?" asked Elrond, who had entered the room at that moment.

            "Oh," said Anomen, embarrassed, "I was just humoring Arwen.  She wanted to draw the sun on my tummy—ah, my stomach."

            "Well," said Elrond gravely, but with a smile in his eyes, "if you are doing well today, I may allow you to have some real sun on your tummy-stomach.  And you will have a visitor later today."

            "Who?" asked Anomen eagerly.

            "Mithrandir—although you may not be so happy after he has given you the lecture that he has been rehearsing.  The word 'folly' is featured in it quite a few times."

            After lunch Elrond carried Anomen into a garden, where they were soon joined by the wizard.

            "Make the most of this time, Anomen," said Elrond.  "Mithrandir must soon depart on another journey.  Mithrandir, I will be in my chamber.  Please come by when you are done talking with Anomen so that I may bade you farewell."

            "Well, well," said Mithrandir after Elrond had departed, "I see before me an elfling both clever and foolish."

            "Clever?" said Anomen.

            "Clever at how you went about escaping from the clutches of Elrond and Glorfindel."

"And foolish?"

Mithrandir looked sternly at him.  "That you can explain yourself!"

            "Because I never needed to escape from their clutches in the first place."

            "Correct.  Whatever possessed you to think that you needed to run away—again, I might add!?"

            Anomen did indeed feel very foolish.

            "I thought Elrond was going to whip us."

            "First of all, if he had, you would have deserved it.  Second, if he had, you would have recovered.  Third, in all the years of his life, Elrond has only once spanked an elfling—and believe me, that elfling deserved it!"

            "Who was it?"

            "Elrohir."

            "I should have known," laughed Anomen.  "But what did he do?"

            Mithrandir sighed and shook his head.  "When the twins were quite a bit younger, they were crossing the Misty Mountains with their father on their way to visit their grandparents in Lothlórien.  When the party stopped to make camp late one afternoon, Elrohir and Elladan were allowed to explore a bit—within easy call of their father, of course.  As luck would have it, the twins stumbled across a Troll cave.  Elrohir, always the reckless one, crawled in.  It was still daylight, so the Troll was fast asleep.  Elrohir crept right up to his feet and tied the Troll's boots together!"

"No!"

"He did indeed," said Mithrandir.  "Ai!  As Elrohir backed away after performing this feat, he tripped over a sack of booty, gold no doubt, and fell against a cauldron, which tipped over against a stack of barrels, which tumbled over, and before you know it the Troll was awake and roaring in a fury.  He leaped up to go after Elrohir, but, of course, Elrohir had tied his boots together, so the Troll toppled over.  This did not improve the Troll's mood, you may be sure, but it did give Elrohir enough time to scramble out of the cave entrance, where he was met by Elrond, who had heard the roars of the Troll.  Fortunately, it was daylight, you will remember, so the Troll, even had it untied its boots with the greatest of dexterity—not very likely, considering that it _was a Troll—would have been unable to at once pursue the elfling trespasser.  Taking advantage of this, Elrond ordered that camp be broken immediately, and the party rode on for several hours before once again setting up camp.  It was then that Elrond took Elrohir aside and thrashed him.  I believe he felt that in this case Elrohir's behavior had been so foolhardy that it was needful to leave an indelible impression on his mind that such risk-taking was not to be tolerated."_

"You say that Elrohir went exploring in the company of Elladan.  Where was he while Elrohir was in the cave tying together the Troll's boots?"

            "Actually," said Mithrandir in a conspiratorial voice, "I have it on good authority that Elladan dared Elrohir to do it—something that Elrond was never told.  Had he known, the Lord of Imladris would have had two spankings to his credit."

            Anomen giggled but then grew sober again.

            "Mithrandir, Elrond thrashed Elrohir because he was reckless and did something foolhardy.  It was very reckless and foolhardy of us to run away.  So why didn't he thrash us, too?

            "It is true that you were reckless and foolhardy, but not intentionally so.  When Elrohir crawled into the Troll cave, he was being deliberately foolhardy.  He set out to do something _because it was dangerous.  This time, however, you three did not set out to do something foolhardy.  You did not seek out danger; instead, it arose as an accidental consequence of your thoughtlessness.  There is a big difference between falling off a mountain and leaping off one, wouldn't you say?"_

            "Aye—but the results can be equally painful," said Anomen with a sigh.

            Mithrandir chuckled.  "Ah, perchance the beginning of wisdom!"

            "Mithrandir, when you were a little wizard—"  Anomen stopped, embarrassed.

            Mithrandir laughed.   "Can you imagine me as a little wizard?" he teased.

            "No," admitted Anomen.

            "Good," said the wizard.  "It would spoil the effect."

            "Spoil the effect?"

            Mithrandir laughed again.  "The aura of mystery.  Half the power of a wizard arises from his inscrutability—and a wizard with an ordinary childhood would hardly be inscrutable!  So pray do not try to picture me as a wizardling!"

            With that Mithrandir arose and bade Anomen farewell.  The Istar then went to take his leave of Elrond.

            "Well, my friend," said the Istar, "once again I entrust Anomen to your capable hands."

            "You will not continue to say so if I lose him yet again."

            "Tell me, Elrond," asked the wizard, "how many times did your Adar lose _you?"_

            Elrond had to laugh.  "More times than even Arwen can count, I believe!—oh, no, you are not suggesting—"

            "Yes," replied Mithrandir with mock gravity.  "Your troubles are only beginning, I fear!  Limber up your eyebrows, Elrond.  You are going to need them."

            The elf-lord looked as if he had very much taken that last bit of advice to heart, for both his eyebrows shot up alarmingly.

"Mithrandir," he moaned, "is there no potion, no spell, that may ease my task?"

Smiling, the Istar shook his head and bade his friend farewell.  Elrond sighed as he watched the wizard depart.  "What, oh, what have I done to anger the Valar?" asked the elf-lord plaintively.  Truly it would not be the last time he would ask that question!

**Thus concludes the latest story in "The Nameless One" series.  My folks are here for Christmas, so I won't be posting for a few days.  Until then, stay well, my friends.  **


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